The Slum Cat 
wet, up the muddy bank and through coal-piles 
and dust-heaps, looking as black, dirty, and un- 
royal as it was possible for a Cat to look. 
Once the shock was over, the Royal-pedi- 
greed Slummer began to feel better for the 
plunge. A genial glow without from the bath, 
a genial sense of triumph within, for had she 
not outwitted three of the big Terrors? 
Her nose, her memory, and her instinct of 
direction inclined her to get on the track again ; 
but the place was infested with those Thunder- 
rollers, and prudence led her to turn aside and 
follow the river-bank with its musky home- 
reminders; and thus she was spared the un- 
speakable horrors of the tunnel. 
She was over three days learning the manifold 
dangers and complexities of the East River 
docks. Once she got by mistake on a ferry- 
boat and was carried over to Long Island; but 
she took an early boat back. At length on the 
third night she reached familiar ground, the place 
she had passed the night of her first escape. 
From that her course was sure and rapid. She 
knew just where she was going and how to get 
there. She knew even the more prominent 
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